


Heat

by redluna



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon, Consent Issues, M/M, Psychological Torture, Slight references to past non-con/dub-con, omega!eames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-20 23:33:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redluna/pseuds/redluna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Eames' nature gets turned against him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/20822.html?thread=51752022#t51752022) over on the Inception kinkmeme.

Eames had always been so careful. 

It helped that people were more inclined to think he was an alpha than anything else. He carried his stocky frame with an easy confidence while letting his words roll off with what seemed like natural charm. A lot of really was just who he was, but there were some things that had to be tacked on when around others. Copying people's traits was what he did for a living and slipping into the traits that people expected from alphas was easy.

The heat suppressants certainly helped, dimming his natural scent just enough to cloud people's senses. He needed them now more than ever, knew that he did from the prickling sensation along the back of his neck and the sweat already collecting on his brow.

His pride was still smarting from how easily he had been brought to this place to begin with.

They had been there waiting for him when he got home, the first man whamming his head against the wall before he even saw anyone coming at him. It had only been enough to stun, not to render him unconscious, and Eames was quick to lunge at the man. He didn't realize that it had been a trick until he felt the prick of a needle sliding into the skin around his neck.

When he came to it was to find himself tied down to a chair. It was a familiar enough ruse until he realized that his hands had actually been handcuffed, eliminating the possibility of squirming free or finding a sharp surface to rub against. Well wasn't that just grand.

"Why hello, Eames. It really is so lovely to see you again."

Eames spat out one of the filthiest curses he knew because that was a voice he knew for all the wrong reasons. It only got worse when he had to see the familiar, arrogant face attached to it.

Peter Jameson had been one of Eames' earliest marks, back when he was still a scrawny con man that could barely even hold up to the "man" part of the title. It had involved the rather unfavorable task of playing Peter's kept boy. He was pretty sure he had been in inspired to finish the job in such record time just to get away from the man. He had certainly spent a very long time in the shower, scrubbing until his skin turned bright red and raw afterwards.

Eames had come a long way since then, however, so he was able to keep all that locked away where it belonged instead of having it play across his face. What he offered up to Jameson was a smirk. "Hello yourself, Peter. The years have not been kind to you, have they?" He took some satisfaction in the obvious way that Jameson gritted his teeth, but the man still looked far too smug for Eames' liking.

"Still the joker, I see." Jameson bent down, one hand seizing Eames' chin and jerking his chin up. "And just as pretty. That was how you managed to trick me in the first place, you know."

Eames snorted. "Please, you were desperate for anything with legs and dewy eyes. It's what made you easy."

Jameson scowled at that, letting Eames' chin drop. "You can mock me all you want," he said, "but I remember the way that you used to gag for it. You're just like any other omega, desperate to spread their legs for any cock that can satisfy them."

Eames had to clench his fists behind his back to keep the flash of fear he felt at Jameson's words from showing. "So that's what you're after then? Bit of a wasted effort when you can't even get it up anymore, you randy bastard."

"Oh, I assure, I can." Jameson brushed his fingers across Eames' cheek, grinning when Eames jerked his head away. "But that's not what I'm after. No, I'm going to leave you right here."

Eames blinked, too caught off guard to keep his poker face up. "What?"

There was a glint in Jameson's eyes that Eames could only call sadistic. "I'm going to leave you here while your heat comes. Don't think I hadn't noticed, dear." Eames couldn't repress the shudder that can through him when Jameson leaned in to sniff at his neck. "You already smell so lovely and it won't be long until you're desperate, begging for the men here to take you, but they won't. You're not going to get what you want, not this time."

Eames' mind had turned into a constant stream of curses. He was going to be here, tied down, throughout the whole of his heat. A typical heat could last for a week, maybe even less if you had a mate or some willing partner to take the edge off, but Eames had been taking suppressants, which meant his heat would be even worse for being kept at bay for so long.

"I'm going to kill you," Eames bit out. "Slowly. And I'm going to enjoy it."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll give it your best go." Jameson's hand whipped out, whapping Eames hard enough across the face that he could taste blood welling in his mouth. It was no doubt thanks to the heavy ring Jameson still insisted on wearing. "But for now you're my bitch."

Then he turned on his heel, his men assuming their positions around the doors to the warehouse.

\---

Eames had almost forgotten what it felt like to be this scared.

At the start, Eames was determined not to beg.

He knew that Jameson would want Eames to put on a show for him. The old bastard probably had a camera or two setup somewhere so that he could watch his own fantasy unfold. He had always been the type of man to enjoy finding a way to make any sort of kink into something sick.

So, no, Eames wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of having things go just how he wanted them. The first time one of the men wandered over to give him water, Eames spat it back out in his face. It took another man forcing his mouth open and then cover his nose to get him to swallow.

"What?" he said at the end. "No sandwich? Think I'd settle for a biscuit at this rate."

One of the men snorted at him. "You're going to need fluids more than that, omega."

And, as much as Eames hated to admit, the man was right. He could already feel his throat becoming parched, pretty much all of his fluids being sweated out. There were embarrassingly large pit stains growing underneath his shirt and little pinpoints of heat sticking into him all over now.

Eames knew that the worse was soon to come when the pricks turned into throbs, but he was determined to find a way to wait it out. He had been tortured before, after all, both inside and outside of the Queen's service. He could get through this. He would have to get through this.

But then Eames jerked awake (not even realizing that he'd fallen asleep) to realize that the inside of his pants were so slick that they were nearly soaked through. 

He had overestimated his own biology.

\---

Things went downhill rather quickly after that.

Eames still managed not to beg, but he was pretty sure his body language was doing all of the pleading for him. He couldn't hold still in his chair anymore, squirming around in his seat until his wrists began to chafe against the cuffs. At least it helped relieve some of the cramps that had begun to form in his muscles, although that was a very slim victory.

He didn't resist being given the water anymore, although it did reach one horrible moment where he began to suck on the bottle without even realizing it. The laughter of the man helping him drink came like a slap in the face.

"God, and I thought the boss was exaggerating. Guess anything will do for you omegas, huh?"

Eames might not be able to move his limbs, but that didn't mean he couldn't move his head. The man let out a loud yelp when Eames clamped his teeth down on his hand, dropping the water bottle and causing it to spill all across Eames' lap. The rush of cold across the heated skin underneath his clothes was so gratifying that he almost didn't even register the punch landed on his face.

The men started to take up posts outside the warehouse after that and, while Eames would love to think that it was because he had scared them off, he knew it was more likely that none of them could be trusted around him anymore. The scent of his heat had permeated the space in which he was confined so much that even could smell it.

He was left with a needle slid into his arm, a long tube attaching it to a bag of fluids that was changed with what Eames thought might be daily (there was no way of telling how long he'd been here). He was assured that he wasn't supposed to die from this, only suffer.

Eames was starting to think that death would be preferable, however, if it would just make it all stop. He felt like someone had set his skin alight and he wanted to rip off the clothes that clung to him because they felt far too heavy.

More than anything, though, he wanted to be fucked. Which was perhaps the worst feeling of it all.

He groaned when he realized that he was thrusting his hips uselessly up into the air, throwing his head back in frustration. "Fine, you're right," he said, "I want it." He clamped his teeth together. "But not you, Jameson. Even a heat this fucking bad can't make me want you again."

He kept quiet after that, consumed by thoughts that, in some ways, were even worse.

Many of the thoughts came to revolve around those he worked with the most, his "team", as it were. That probably shouldn't be all that surprising, really, since they were the ones that he had performed inception with and bonds like that couldn't just be broken overnight. Especially when some of them had had an even longer time to grow.

He couldn't imagine Cobb doing anything to help him since the man was another omega, although he knew Cobb well enough to know that he would at least try to help. Saito was a man use to quick tumbles (his string of mistresses proved that) and he wouldn't want to risk the damage of such a valuable asset. He would probably just force a birth control pill into Eames' system before dong anything, which Eames could hardly blame him for.

Yusuf was only a beta, but that didn't mean he wouldn't strive to help. His hands would probably be all fumbly, though, unsure of what to do with another guy, even if he was his best mate.

Ariadne was an alpha, the first one that could make Cobb do as she said so readily since Mal. She would have no qualms about taking what she wanted. The girl might appear innocent, but Eames had seen enough of her razor sharp mind to know what was really there under the surface. And the fact that it would help him would only turn her more ruthless. 

Arthur was the one that Eames' thoughts turned to the most, however, and that didn't come as any sort of surprise. He had fantasied about Arthur plenty before all of this so his mind already had a great deal of fodder. 

Arthur was an alpha and possibly one of the few people Eames would consider letting mate with him. He thought about that now, about having Arthur pin him down to the nearest available surface and just fuck into him ruthlessly until he was begging for the man to knot him. Because while he would never beg for Jameson, he was fairly sure that he trusted Arthur just enough to do so.

The thoughts might keep him from saying anything that he would regret once he was free (if that ever happened), but they were still torturous. They showed him what he wanted while he reminding him that he couldn't have it at the same time.

He sobbed until his head began to reel, pounding angrily at him. He dry heaved not long after, only to begin the whole process over again a minute later.

\---

Eames was aware of when his heat finally broke because of how sharply everything suddenly came into focus. Every part of his body ached and downright stank as well. He was beyond certain that the clothes he had been wearing were beyond salvageable by this point. He was pretty sure he would want to burn them anyway, though, so that didn't much matter.

He was trying to figure out what would happen next (because surely even Jameson couldn't be stupid enough to just let him go and expect he'd be safe afterwards) when a gunshot rang out.

Eames tensed up in his chair, even though he knew that he wouldn't be able to do anything to protect himself. When things turned into an all out barrage of bullets outside, however, he realized that he should be more afraid of who was about to stumble through the door.

Time seemed to drag on forever, but eventually the sounds stopped, making everything seem eerily silent. The door to the warehouse was kicked open not long after and...

Oh. Well then.

"Arthur?" Eames said. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" Arthur was already behind Eames, ducking down to start picking at the lock that held the handcuffs together. "You can't just drop off the radar for two fucking weeks without people starting to worry about you."

"Without you starting to worry, you mean," Eames said.

"Shut up." Arthur's tone sounded suspicious embarrassed. "Ariadne was worried too. Pretty sure she was going to deck me if I didn't find you."

"Ah, dear Ariadne." Eames sighed with relief when his hands finally became free, tugging them in front of him so that he could flex and turn his muscles before starting to untie his legs. "Remind me to send her a lovely gift for this."

Arthur didn't say anything. He just hovered around Eames, fidgeting with his gun, although Eames was sure that Arthur wouldn't have come in if all the men outside weren't suitably dead first. No, Arthur only fidgeted like that when there was something on his mind, so it was no surprise that he didn't stay quiet for long.

"I"m sorry I didn't come sooner." A small furrow appeared between Arthur's eyebrows. "I should have gotten here sooner."

"There's nothing for it now." Eames was trying to assume the jovial tone he usually had during their banter but it sounded forced even to him. "Just please tell me you killed Jameson."

"Yes." Arthur's voice was thick with anger. "And I made sure it was slow."

"Thank you." Eames couldn't hide the sincerity or the relief that was thick in his voice. "You didn't have to..." He swallowed hard. "You didn't even have to come find me."

"Don't be stupid." Something softened in Arthur's expression. "I'll always come find you." He dipped down to slide his arm under Eames' own arms, helping him to his feet. "Now, come on, let's get you home."

"I'm sorry to disappoint, darling," Eames said, "but I don't think I'll be up for a roll in the hay for quite some time."

"Fine by me." The steps with which Arthur lead Eames out of the warehouse were steady and sure. "We have all the time in the world. And, besides, I have to prove myself first."

The laugh that Eames let out was a real one, even if it was a tad bit weak. "Oh, darling, you already have."


End file.
